


Deadly Hands

by PhantasmaDormi



Series: Robin is not okay (and that's alright) [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, POV Second Person, Past Character Death, Past Memories, Robin remembers killing Chrom even though they weren't the one who killed him, Thanks Grima/Alt Robin, The Comfort is minor lets be honest here, Time Shenanigans, Trauma, Y'know how Chrom died in one of the cutscenes in the prologue? its that scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:35:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21827587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantasmaDormi/pseuds/PhantasmaDormi
Summary: You can't remember what your hands look like without gloves.Except that's not true.
Series: Robin is not okay (and that's alright) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1572874
Kudos: 15





	Deadly Hands

You don’t remember what your hands look like without gloves.

Except that’s not true.

You, realistically, know what they look like. Worn, rough, hands that have seen work and battle and lived to see more. Regular hands of a warrior, of a Shepherd.

More accurately, you are haunted by the image of your own gloved hands. You don’t like looking at them, don’t like remembering what they can do. Could do. Seeing them raised before you ready to attack scares you almost as much as the symbol on the back of your right hand fills you with anger.

Yet, those hands haven’t done anything to hurt you. Or your friends. You think.

Sometimes, late at night after a grueling day or after hours without sleep, your mind brings forth memories you don’t remember. Things that happened but didn’t.

It’s you, and it’s Chrom. You’ve won, an echo in your mind feels relief but an echo in your soul feels dread. Chrom is tired and exhausted- so are you- but happy, looking like the weight of the world was taken from his shoulders.

Your head pulses.

Then his face freezes. His eyes widen. He staggers back. Power courses through you. You look down. At him. A hole in his chest. No, a bolt in his chest.

You look at your hands. They sizzle with dispelled magic, poised for an attack. The aftermath of one.

He tells you it's not your fault. Asks for you to escape. Even through your tears you can tell he’s sincere.

Then he’s dead.

And it's just you. And your hands. Gloved, terrible hands.

Sometimes, it’s not at night. Not when you’re tired. Instead, you’re relaxing, taking a breather. Between fights. You’re talking to Chrom, or you’re going to get his attention.

Your hand reaches out for him.

Then he’s dying, the world is dark and closed. Your body feels like lead and your head feels like ash. You can’t breathe.

And then Chrom calls your name, a hand grasps yours, and you snap back. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay. He says ‘there you are’ or ‘I’m right here’ or ‘Careful now’ or just ‘Breathe’. His hand is warm and solid in yours. Alive, moving. He’s looking at you, concern, and worry, and care in his eyes.

He doesn’t ask. He just offers comfort. If you try to subtly find his pulse, he doesn’t ask. If your eyes trail across his chest again and again, he doesn’t ask. There’s no room for questions when the ghost of the past- the future?- hangs heavy on your heart, lurking in your head.

You don’t take the gloves off. They are a reminder. A reminder that you can destroy it all. That everything can go wrong even at the end of it all.

You can’t remember what your hands look like without gloves. You hate that.


End file.
